One For The Money, Two For The Show
by CoutureWriting
Summary: Ella is in a passionate and twisted affair with mastermind Jim Moriarty when he asks her to do the impossible; make Sherlock Holmes fall in love with her and then burn him. Title from Lana Del Rey's 'Million Dollar Man'.
1. Work & Play

**Just started this, it's sort of a document of Ella's struggle when her lover Moriarty asks her to do the seemingly impossible; break Sherlock Holmes' heart. **

**Let me know what you think, if you want more, if you think it's too creepy. But I thought for Moriarty to love (or appear to love someone), they'd have to be pretty heartless/sadistic/mad like him, so I've tried to paint Ella as a more human version of him. **

**READ :)**

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><p>Ella von Espenberg allowed a slow smirk to creep across her face as she approached her target. The black gown she wore was slit to the thigh, and she leant in and pushed her own leg between Lord Leonard Worthington's.<p>

"What did you think of the opera?" he managed to choke out, stiffening under her smoldering gaze.

"_La Traviata _is my favorite," she murmured, her breath heavy on his ear. "I found it terribly hard to concentrate, though … there were so many more _pressing_ matters on my mind."

"I … yes … uh … know what you mean," he coughed. One of his arms reflexively grasped Ella's wrist.

"Of course you do," she purred. "I'd bet you thought of nothing else."

He swallowed.

Grinning, she pulled away and straightened. Leonard made a disappointed groan as she paraded across the room to her handbag.

With her back to him, Leonard wondering what she was doing.

"Well, my Lord, this has been nice, hasn't it? But unfortunately, I'm on a schedule. I have an appointment tonight."

Silence hung in the air.

"What?" he demanded.

She turned, slowly, her revolver pointed directly at his face. His eyes widened in realization and horror.

"No, please!"

"As I was saying," she continued. "I'm on a tight schedule. As lovely as our night together could have been … and I hate to get myself worked up over nothing. _Damn!_"

He scrambled backwards.

"_Au revoir_," she told him with a smile. Her finger tightened on the trigger as she prized the look of terror on his face.

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><p>The steam mingled with the hot water as Ella scrubbed her body methodically. She wanted to remove any trace of Leonard Worthington from her person. It was partly in disgust of the man she'd just disposed of, and partly in preparation of what was to come. She knew <em>He<em> wouldn't appreciate the scent of another man on her. And the hot water always helped to relax her nerves and calm the adrenaline that pulsed through her body after a kill … though it did make her aroused.

"_Honey, I'm hoooooome!_" she heard him call from the hall cynically. She couldn't help the excitement that jumped in her chest at the sound of his voice. She squeezed her legs together involuntarily.

"In the shower," she called back.

She timed it perfectly. It would take him thirteen seconds to reach the bathroom. He opened the door and she pulled the curtain aside and thrust her hip out, placing her hand on it seductively.

"My, my, my," he murmured appreciatively. "You're too good to me, really you are. Ella, darling, you outdo yourself."

"I thought you'd never get here," she complained, then she attempted a look of hurt. "Do I get a kiss or do I have to wait all night?"

Hands in pockets, he rocked forward on his heels. She leant out of the shower and grasped his face between her hands, pressing her hot, wet mouth on his.

She stepped out of the shower, backing him into the wall as he smirked into her kisses.

She moaned involuntarily. He always did this to her. She pulled away and stared at him from underneath her lashes.

"Do I have to do everything?" she mock-complained.

"You're already undressed, my dear," he explained.

She grinned, and reached forward, tearing his tie off viciously, the buttons of his suit popped off as she ripped it from him. She pulled the shirt away, too, and then she pressed her wet chest against him as she reached for the buckle of his belt.

"Are we going to do it right here?" she asked.

He smiled and shrugged as she pulled his trousers away, and then his briefs.

"Kiss me," she demanded.

Suddenly, he responded. One of his hands was in her hair as he bent her mouth down and his lips crashed down on hers. She smiled under his mouth as they tumbled to the bathroom floor together, a tangle of limbs.

"Jim Moriarty, you are the devil," she moaned into his ear.

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><p>"Ella."<p>

She reluctantly opened her eyes, her cheek on Jim's chest.

"Oh, please," she groaned. "I was having the loveliest dream." She stretched out her pleasantly aching limbs like a cat and pressed herself closer to him.

"I didn't come here just for fun," he admitted. She nestled in the crook of his arm and looked up at him, waiting for an explanation.

It was always waiting with Jim. But that's what excited her. With everybody else, it was the opposite – she took the lead, executed the action and seduced whomever she had to. Jim was the only person who could stimulate her, the only person who could keep her hanging on. He was never predictable, he financed her lavish lifestyle, and honestly, the sex was amazing.

"What did you come here for?" she asked, tracing a line with her fingertip from his navel to his hips.

"There's something I need you to do, I think," he murmured. "I haven't decided yet, but you're the best at what you do … so I'm thinking you could help me with a little problem that's annoying me."

She smiled and scrambled onto her knees, placing one on either side of him seductively. Having trapped him, she bit his bottom lip. "Sounds interesting. What do you want me to do?"

"You mean _whom_ do I want you to do," Jim corrected her. "Sherlock Holmes."

"You want me to fuck this guy?" she asked.

Jim smiled. "Not exactly. I mean, sure, if you can get him with no clothes on, feel free. But what I really want is for you to make him fall in love with you."

"Easy peasy," she said playfully, dragging her fingernails down his chest distractedly.

"You're not concentrating, are you?" he said, half-amused, half-annoyed.

"I _want you_, Jim," she complained. "Come on. Once more before breakfast."

He rolled his eyes. "In a minute. Will you do this for me? I need to … _burn_ Sherlock Holmes … I need you to crush his heart, my dear."

"Consider it absolutely trampled," she grinned. "Satisfied?"

"Not quite," he growled. He flipped her over so that he was pressing her into the bed.

She giggled and pulled him down to meet her lips in a frenzied kiss once more.

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><p>Ella emerged from her enormous wardrobe, wearing only Jim's button-less shirt, clutching two hangers. On one was a pretty floral dress and cardigan set, and the other a leather miniskirt and tight-fitting lace top. She held them to herself for Jim to admire.<p>

He lay on the bed; the sheet pulled up to his hips, and was watching her amusedly.

"What do you think?" she asked. "What will I be? Playful kitten or naughty seductress?"

He considered her. "I don't know if you could manage playful kitten, my love. Innocence has never really been your thing, has it?"

She grinned and tossed them both to the floor.

She leapt onto the bed and pulled her MacBook onto her lap.

"_The Science of Deduction_ … interesting," she murmured. "I found more on his mate's blog. John Watson."

"He's clever," Jim warned her. "But his weakness is his heart. We have to squash it, lovely, we have to make him wish he'd never been born."

"I can make him wish he was dead," she said confidently. "I can make it hurt so _bad_ he'll wish he was dead," she repeated. "For you, I promise."

"I believe you," laughed Jim.

She glanced at him and smiled. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to spend the whole day in bed with him, to drink black coffee, and put on old movies and have him all to herself. But she knew what was coming.

"I have to go," he announced, tossing the covers off and sliding out of the bed. He disappeared into the bathroom and returned with his trousers and jacket.

"Here," Ella said, pulling his shirt off and handing it to him.

He smiled at the buttons. "Keep it. I think there's a spare in your wardrobe for times like these."

"I don't want you to go," she confessed.

"I have to," he said, shaking his head. "There's a lot to do today. And I'm sure you want to get a head start on this thing with Holmes, am I right?"

She nodded sagely.

"I'll be checking up on you," he said, more menacingly than he meant it.

"Naturally," she agreed.

When he was dressed, she straightened his tie and kissed him fervently.

"I'll see you later, my love," he said.

Reluctantly, she let him go as he disappeared out the door. How did he always leave her dissatisfied? She always wanted more than he was willing to give, more than was even possible.

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><p><strong>My soundtrack for this chapter:<strong>

**Hungry Like The Wolf - Duran Duran**

**Beggin' - Madcon**

**Video Games - Lana Del Rey**

**Punching in a Dream - The Naked & Famous**

**Eeeeek, what did you think? Let me know. Are they too crazy? It's hard. I haven't decided yet, but there might be a bit of a love triangle, if I do decide to make Ella fall in love with Sherlock, what do you think? **

**Review, please, another chapter coming. **

**x**


	2. Good Evening, Sherlock

**Another chapter! I couldn't wait, I was having too much fun writing Ella. She's just crazy. Umm, I know this one is a little short, but I can just never wait to post again! I will try and update again soon! Enjoy!**

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><p>NEW MESSAGE FROM JIM<p>

GETTING READY?

-JM

Ella smiled at the phone and tossed it onto the bed, resuming her gaze at the mirror. She'd swept up her dark hair in a messy twist upon her head, done her makeup carefully with dark, smoky eyes complimenting their bright grey, and she was wearing a small, tight-fitting black dress with a dark jacket pulled around her shoulders.

She slipped on her heels.

Yes, Jim could definitely say she was getting ready.

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><p>"I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?" the woman asked, letting Ella into the hall.<p>

She wiped the tears off her face, her hands shaking. "E-Ella," she managed to choke out, before falling back into sickly sobs, wiping her face on her sleeve.

The woman, Mrs. Hudson, looked concerned as she led Ella up the stairs to 221B. Ella followed, forcing more tears to her eyes, her mascara running down her cheeks.

"Boys!" called Mrs. Hudson.

John Watson appeared at the door. He looked genial, until he saw her standing behind the landlady.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concern springing to his face. "What's happened?"

"She's here to see Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson explained. She nudged Ella forward, and John reached out a hand to help her into the room.

The feeling was peculiar. Sherlock as sprawled across the lounge, wearing a finely cut suit, his eyes vacant. She sobbed loudly and leant into John vulnerably.

"Sherlock! We have a visitor."

He did not respond, but his gaze slowly shifted towards the two of them, and he gestured to a chair at the other end of the room. Ella stumbled towards it gratefully and continued to stare at Sherlock.

He got to his feet and stepped into the light. She almost gasped. He was taller than she'd imagined, and much, _much_ better looking. His dark curls were endearing, and his bright blue eyes were bright and curious. He held her gaze.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

She sniffed. "I have … I-I have a message from you," her voice wobbled dramatically. "He told me where to find you."

"Who?"

"I was just …" she choked out a sob. "I was just walking in town, and he just … pulled me into the car. He brought me here."

"Who brought you here?" Sherlock repeated.

"He told me he'd kill me if I didn't … if I didn't give you this …"

She scrambled in her pockets, pulling out a folded piece of paper; her shaking hand offered it to Sherlock. He took it, fixing her with a cautious gaze, and opened it.

Of course, Ella knew what it said. She'd written it, after hours of practice imitating Jim's scrawl.

_I will kill her in ten days. Let the fun begin. _

_-JM_

"What does it say?" she wept.

"Nothing," he said, folding the paper and shoving it into his suit pocket. He stared at her.

"Well that's okay then," she said with a smile. She brushed off her dress and wiped her eyes. "I'll see you later."

She headed for the door.

"Wait, what?" demanded John. "That's it?

Sherlock was frowning at her, too.

She rolled her eyes. "Jim Moriarty is the least of my worries. I have a paper to write and an apartment to clean."

John looked confused, but Sherlock smiled.

"You're a very good actress," he mused.

She smiled. "Why, thank you. I had to make sure you got his message."

"Do you know him?" asked Sherlock.

"Not well," she said. "I mean, he'd never show himself to little old me, would he? But he … communicates …"

"He's going to kill you," said Sherlock.

She raised her eyebrows. "Is he now?"

"You're not worried," said John quietly. "Why aren't you worried? He's killed plenty of people."

She glanced at him. "I can disappear if I want to …"

"From Moriarty?" asked Sherlock, skeptically.

"Underestimation is dangerous," Ella warned him.

John looked unconvinced. "You can't let her go if Moriarty is going to kill her," he insisted. "That's ridiculous, she won't last ten minutes if he wants her dead."

Ella couldn't help but smile. "Is this a proposition?" she asked.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in thought while staring at her. "Are you expecting one?"

The silence was terse, and Ella rolled her eyes. She reached into her pocket and pulled from it her phone. She handed it to Sherlock. "Your number?"

"I bet that's the first time a girl's asked him for his number," said John, rolling his eyes.

Ella watched as Sherlock entered his number and handed her back the phone. "I'll call you if anything happens."

"Text," he said. "Much better."

She smiled. "Text it is then."

Silence fell around the room again. Ella hitched her bag over her shoulder and shifted her weight to the other foot. "Look, as nice as this is, I really should be going."

"Don't let us keep you," said Sherlock.

"Sherlock!" cried John. "She's got a criminal mastermind who wants to kill her. Be nice."

"I don't think niceties are in his repertoire," said Ella sarcastically. "I've been reading your blog, Holmes … it proved very interesting."

He glanced sharply at her. "Doing your research?"

She looked shocked. "Just interested in the man behind the brain," she said quietly, approaching him.

"There's nothing behind the brain," he said blankly.

Ella reached up and touched his cheek softly. "Are you sure?"

He pushed her hand away. "Positive."

"Ah, well, if you're sure," she said dismissively. "Goodbye, boys. I'll let you know if I'm still alive in an hour or two. If you like."

John nodded but Sherlock was still staring vacantly at the wall.

With a last glance at Sherlock, Ella slipped out of the room and down the stairs.

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><p><strong>I know it was short, but I hope you enjoyed it. Please review! All my love.<strong>

**Soundtrack for this chapter:**

**Million Dollar Man - Lana Del Rey**

**Jellylegs - Children Collide**

**Big Jet Plane - Angus & Julia Stone**


	3. A Cordial Invitation

**Here you go, another short chapter. No reviews, no more chapters. I dunno if I've done Sherlock right in this one, but who knows? I can delete and re-write if necessary. Let me know. ;)**

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><p>NEW MESSAGE ALERT!<p>

Am still alive, if you were wondering

—E x

Sherlock lay sprawled on his bed. He glanced at the message, frowned, and tossed his phone away.

The girl was a puzzle … that was all. He just needed to figure out her motivation, what Moriarty wanted with her, and why she wasn't scared out of her wits that he wanted her dead.

Her image stuck in his brain, but he often pictured things vividly. She was probably one of the most aesthetically beautiful women he'd ever seen. Superior genes, that was all … they'd given her an advantage that other people must have envied.

Not Sherlock. He'd been blessed with a fanatical brain that was more advantageous than any good looks could ever be. He imagined Ella could be very persuasive if she wanted to be. And she was a good actress. He had to be careful around her—she'd shown him that much that evening.

NEW MESSAGE ALERT!

Are you even awake …?

—E x

He rolled his eyes and ignored it. She was attempting a reaction from him, probably trying to gauge his thoughts. He stared at the ceiling, the thoughts racing through his brain, more than could command his attention at one time. It was always like this, though—it was thoroughly tiring, his brain going twice the speed of everybody else's.

NEW MESSAGE ALERT!

It's rude to ignore, you know. I just opened a bottle of wine – hope you're on your way over – I'm scared

—E x

He stared at the message for a long time before getting to his feet.

ADDRESS?

Why was he replying, let alone contemplating joining her? It was obviously a ploy on her part to manipulate him … but he could outsmart her, he knew it.

NEW MESSAGE ALERT!

I know you can figure it out – see you soon

—E x

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><p>A knock at the door pulled Ella away from the kitchen. She walked the length of her flat quickly, eager to see if it really was Sherlock.<p>

She pulled the door open and came face-to-face with his impeccably dressed chest. Christ, he was tall.

"I thought you might not show," she said. She was wrapped up only in a towel, her hair dripping on the carpet from the shower. She wandered down the hall, and he followed her after closing the door.

When she reached the lounge, she gestured to the couch and dropped the towel on the ground before slipping into the bedroom, leaving Sherlock with a shocking view of her naked back before she pushed the door shut behind her with her foot.

The image still blazing in his mind, he sat down on the couch and turned the television on.

Ella returned quickly, wearing a loose cotton dress. She smiled at him and walked to the kitchen.

He heard her bustling around and wondered if he should get up and offer to help with whatever she was doing.

She returned with two wine glasses and offered him one.

Usually, Sherlock didn't drink, but Ella raised her glass in toast, so he clinked his against hers and downed it quickly.

He stared at her as she held her glass and watched him closely for a few minutes.

"I'm impressed," she said finally.

"Why is that?" he asked, frowning.

"People usually succumb earlier than this," she said quietly.

"They usually …" he trailed off, the drowsy blackness quickly becoming apparent. His eyes widened.

"You're so trusting," she said with an appreciative smile. She sat down on his lap. "I really am sorry, my love, but you do need to be searched. I have to work you out."

The weight in his limbs was too heavy. He struggled to keep his eyes open. Ella wasn't waiting for him to pass out. Her hands were already in his pockets, searching.

He choked on his words and the blackness took over.

"Oh, my dear," said Ella sympathetically, getting to her feet. She laid him down on the lounge carefully, before reaching into his pocket and pulling his phone out.

"Now, now, now, what have you been hiding?" she asked. She stared at his face for a long time, admiring the handsome exterior. She leant down and pressed her lips against his limp ones quickly before sitting down beside him with the phone.

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><p><strong>That's all for now. Hope you enjoyed. Lucky Ella got to kiss Sherlock ... even if he wasn't conscious. What will Jim think if she tells him? Hmmmm. Please REVIEW, and I will be in your debt for life. Let me know what you think lovelies. xoxo<strong>


	4. Moriarty & Sherlock: Polar Opposites

**You asked for more Jim, so here he is! It's crazy - I definitely love Sherlock more than Jim, but I find myself leaning in favour of him in this fic. I just think that Ella has developed this hopeless love for him that she hates herself for. It's gonna be great to gauge her reaction after The Reichenbach Fall. Oh my god. I'm excited. Then she'll have to decide what to do. Also, in response to one of the reviews, I am very worried about writing Sherlock out of character. Before I started, I didn't think about it too much, but he's incredibly difficult to write. I'm doing my best. There's a little of him in this chapter, so let me know what you think.**

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><p>"Stop staring at me," Jim murmured, his eyes closed, hands folded over his naked torso. He opened one eye and peered at Ella, who was stroking his arm and watching him.<p>

"I wasn't _staring_," she said defensively. "I was gazing. Much more romantic."

He opened the other eye and smiled at her. "It's me who should be staring, anyway, you look absolutely enchanting."

Ella rolled her eyes. "I just woke up."

"Regardless," Jim said.

"You're such a manipulator," she said, hitting his chest, rolling her eyes. "You don't need to flirt, Jim, you've already fucked me."

"Valid point," he said, raising his eyebrows. He pulled her closer anyway.

Ella scrambled to her knees and tried to climb out of the bed, but Jim caught her around the waist and pulled her back to him roughly. His grasp on her was so tight she drew in breath involuntarily. Sometimes he scared her. He was like a child on the brink of killing a pet they loved by squeezing it too hard.

"I'm making coffee," she protested breathlessly.

"Black, no sugar."

She turned to face him. "I_ know_ how you like your coffee, Jim, we've been sleeping together for two years," she said witheringly. She pried his hands off her stomach and managed to escape the bed. She turned to face him and made a catlike noise before pulling on her silk dressing gown and slipping out of the room.

In the kitchen, she switched on the kettle and pressed her back into the bench, still breathless. She wondered when the day would come when Jim would hurt her properly. She'd emerged from their bed with bruises before, when he'd become too impassioned or frustrated and accidentally inflicted it on her.

Sometimes she wondered if their relationship was monogamous. For her, there was nobody else. In body, she wasn't faithful, but in spirit, he was the only one for her. If she slept with anybody else, there was no passion, no fire. She often wondered if it was the same for him. But she knew that their relationship wasn't _real_. She loved him, and he fucked her, and might have been fond of her.

She'd tried to prevent herself falling in love with him. But danger had always attracted her. Normal people were so _boring_ and predictable. She could never predict what Jim would do.

She jumped when the kettle clicked to signal it had boiled. She reached over and poured the steaming water into the two cups.

Two hands grabbed her bottom and she shivered. She hadn't even heard him approach.

"Hey," she murmured.

"Are you having any luck with Holmes?" he asked, taking the coffee from her.

He looked delicious, wearing only a pair of trousers. She couldn't help the smile that crept across her features. She was never satisfied. Every time she thought she might have had enough of him, she wanted him twice as much.

She shrugged. "I think so. He's hard to read. I think I just need to bite the bullet and seduce him. I think he's suspicious."

Jim rolled his eyes. "The man's a walking, talking case of paranoia. You have to make him forget. If that's even possible."

"I'm doing my best," Ella promised.

"Of course he's going to be suspicious," Jim continued. "You drugged him when he visited just to play with his phone. And I'm sure you have no qualms about nakedness around him."

"I have no qualms with nakedness around anybody," laughed Ella.

"Try subtlety. I've heard it works wonders for seduction."

"Subtlety? That's probably why he's still a virgin. He wouldn't notice me making a pass if I tore his clothes off and straddled him," said Ella bitterly.

Jim raised his eyebrows beautifully. "Do what you see fit. You've made many a man fall in love with you before. And he is, after all, just a man. Unless all the rumours are true and he really is gay."

"Oh, god," said Ella. "That would make my job difficult, now wouldn't it?"

Jim smiled cruelly. "Persistence is good for the soul."

"How would you know? You don't have a soul," Ella replied, shaking her head. "Or a heart."

"I have another interesting organ, though," he murmured, sliding a hand up her thigh.

She slapped his hand away. "I happen to be very well acquainted with that particular organ. You might say we're best friends."

He smiled and she moaned appreciatively as he lifted her onto the bench, tossing her dressing gown away and pushing himself between her legs.

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><p>"Ella …"<p>

Ella raised her eyebrows at Sherlock and hopped from foot to foot in the doorway to his apartment, wrapping her coat tightly around her shoulders.

"Are you going to invite me in, or shall I stand out here all day?" she asked sarcastically.

He stepped aside reluctantly to allow her in. In the living room, she turned and gazed at him for a while.

"John in?"

"No."

She moved towards him. "Perfect …"

He frowned as she reached out to touch his hand. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

She glanced up at him from under her eyebrows. "Your pupils are dilated," she observed. She lifted a hand and slipped it underneath his suit, against his chest. "Your heart is beating very fast."

Silence. Jesus Christ.

"Wonderful observations," he said dismissively, pushing her hand away and striding across the room to sit in an armchair.

She turned to face him, placing her hands on her hips. "Really? _Really?_"

"Really _what_?" he snapped. He looked unamused and annoyed by her performance.

This was going to be a lot harder than she'd imagined. Sherlock definitely was not like other men, Jim included.

"_Well_, what are we going to do, then, if not each other?"

He glanced at her sharply. "Don't be crude, it doesn't suit you."

She narrowed her eyes at him as silence hung in the air between them. She sighed dramatically. "Can I help it if I'm attracted to you?" she demanded. "God knows why. You hardly encourage it."

"Good," he said. "Then _stop._"

"Where's the fun in that?" she asked, injecting equal amounts of venom and boredom into her voice.

"I thought you were here for protection from Moriarty," he said.

"I _am_."

"Then why aren't you scared?"

"Moriarty is a freak," she snapped. "But I doubt he'll kill me. If he does, then I'm wrong."

"Obviously."

"Are you always this … this cynical? God knows how the hell John manages to put up with you on a full-time basis. I think I would have shot myself by now."

He rolled his eyes. "That explains why you threw yourself at me," he said sarcastically.

"Oh, ha ha," she said. "It doesn't matter anyway. You're obviously gay."

His gaze snapped to her. "Excuse me?"

She laughed derisively. "You're a thirty-something virgin with a male flat mate."

He frowned at her. "You've got it wrong."

"Have I? Prove it."

"I am not going to sleep with you," he said bluntly.

"Evidently."

"How can I convince you?" he asked.

"Kiss me," she said brusquely. "Kiss me once, properly, and I'll let the gay thing go. I promise."

She'd assumed he'd say no. But he was getting to his feet. He was walking over to her. His face was inches from hers, his piercing blue eyes unwavering.

She was waiting for his lips to meet hers, to taste him, to kiss him back, to allow him a moment of passion he'd never forget.

His breath was in her face.

"No."

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><p><strong>That was it for this chapter. Hope you enjoyed. A little bit of tension there at the end, but I honestly didn't think Sherlock would kiss her just to prove he wasn't gay. Poor Ella - she's going to have to try some more seduction techniques to make this work. <strong>

**Soundtrack for this chapter:**

**Radio - Lana Del Rey (are you sensing a theme? Listen to her whole album - AMAZING! She inspired this fic)**

**Bittersweet Symphony - The Verve**

**Angie - The Rolling Stones**

**Well that's it from me for now, enjoy my lovelies, and don't forget to review if you liked it. Honestly, they brighten my day, SO PLEASE. Thanks beautiful! x**


	5. Hit me

**Another chapter! Not much to say this time, except enjoy! And review, please.**

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><p>By now, Ella's visits had become a regular occurrence that both Sherlock and John were accustomed to. Her ten days of life had well and truly been spent, but then again, she'd written the note, so she wasn't worried. Neither seemed to mind her presence – John appreciated her human side and Sherlock appreciated her intellect. She'd sit in as they discussed cases, and she found things to do, like making tea and cleaning up after Sherlock's gruesome experiments. She didn't often venture to the fridge after an episode not heeding a warning from John about a severed head.<p>

She was having limited success in getting close to Sherlock. It was frustrating – like his heart was padlocked shut and he'd thrown away the key. Jim hadn't pestered her about it, but she knew her lack of success was frustrating him. She knew that nobody fell in love in two weeks, but she thought she might have at least managed a conscious kiss.

She didn't allow her frustration to show, though. She didn't push the point with Sherlock, because it meant an automatic shut down of any emotional connection. It was like he was scared of her … or himself around her.

"Sherlock, look at this," said John. Silence had enveloped the room for almost half an hour. John sat in one of the armchairs, reading a newspaper, Sherlock was at the desk on the laptop and Ella had sprawled across the lounge, drying her painted nails.

"What is it?" he demanded, without looking up.

"'British M.P. disappears; wife concerned'," John read from the headline. "I've read the article … it just doesn't add up."

Ella rolled her eyes. "He's fled to Jamaica with his mistress," she said, blowing on her fingernails. She glanced over to find them both staring at her.

"How could you know that?" asked Sherlock.

She shrugged. "I knew his mistress. She was a lap-dancing stripper-turned-escort," said Ella.

John frowned. "Sometimes I worry about the sort of people you know."

She smiled. "Why? I don't."

"Because John has more of a penchant for safety and propriety than you," said Sherlock, shaking his head and returning his gaze to the laptop.

"What are you suggesting, Sherlock?" she asked pointedly.

He glanced up again. "You don't associate with the most reputable of characters, after all."

"I'm sorry that my friends don't meet your standards," she said, sounding anything but sorry. "I'll be sure to remember you next time I make an acquaintance to judge whether or not you'll approve."

"That's not—"

"You two are so bloody melodramatic!" cried John finally. "Both of you give it a rest. Honestly, you're at each other's throats twenty-four-seven. Don't you get sick of it?"

Ella smiled. "I should probably be going, anyway." She got to her feet. "Thanks for a lovely evening, boys."

Without thinking, she dialed Jim's number.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Guess," she said brightly.

"I'm five minutes away," he said. "Any luck?"

"Not much," she said. She glanced at Sherlock and smiled slyly. "We'll talk when I'm in the car. I'll see you soon."

She disconnected as John got up to see her off. He kissed her on the cheek lightly and she couldn't help but smile. He was one of the most genuinely lovely people she knew, especially in comparison to Jim and Sherlock.

"Bye, Holmes," she called.

He waved a hand at her in a dismissive fashion. With a last smile at John she slipped out of the apartment and down the stairs to the street.

On the footpath she waited, pulling her coat tightly around her shoulders. She shivered in the cold as she waited for Jim.

Suddenly, Ella got the distinct feeling that she was being watched, and she glanced up at the window of 221B to see Sherlock staring at her. She met his gaze and blew a petulant kiss to him.

A sleek, black BMW pulled up, and she glanced back a final time before pulling the door open and climbing in.

"Hello, my love," said Jim as the car took off.

She leant over and kissed him feverishly. She was glad that the partition between them and the driver was closed and she clambered onto his lap to pin him down and deepen the kiss.

"I've missed you," she managed breathlessly between kisses.

"I've been busy," he said, threading his hands into her hair and pulling her face back down roughly to his.

She was practically aching for him as she tore at her coat. She dragged it off as Jim pushed her skirt up so that it was bunched around her waist. Her eyes were heavy with desire as she sustained his gaze as she tore his trousers away determinedly.

"How long have we got?" she asked, sliding her leg over him so that he was straddled against the seat.

He grinned in a self-satisfied way. "I've told the driver to take the long route. But we have all night."

She couldn't help the excitement that came over her. "All mine? For the whole night?" she demanded.

He nodded slowly and tilted his head.

"You mean it?" she asked intensely.

He rolled his eyes and laughed. "I mean it."

She buried her face in his neck. Every inch of her was unbearably hot as he clutched her tightly against him.

He was intoxicating, in and around her. His scent, the feel of his naked skin, his clothes, and his hair … it felt as though she'd been drugged, or was in the middle of a glorious high. Everything was heightened, magnified and twice as real.

They clung together … Ella clung to _him_ for what could have been hours, days or even weeks.

After, she leant against him, appreciating the perfect bubble that was, at that moment, their existence together. As always, it was fleeting and when the feeling evaporated, she only wanted to cry.

When they reached her apartment, she dragged him into the lift and proceeded to kiss him as many times as she could. When the doors slid open and she turned to step out, she nearly had a heart attack.

"Sherlock!" she cried, clutching her chest. "What are you doing here?"

But he wasn't looking at her, he was staring past her, at a panting Jim, still in the lift. He stepped out and placed an arm around Ella's waist.

"I'm Jim," he said, offering a hand.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the offering and instead fixed him with a pointed glare. "I know who you are. I met you at the hospital. Molly's boyfriend."

Jim laughed. "I thought you said I was gay?" he asked amusedly.

Sherlock's gaze flickered to Ella. "Obviously _not_."

"Sherlock, please …" murmured Ella. "Why are you _here_?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Idiotic, really, when you consider that the last time I was here you drugged me."

"Look, I'm sorry," she tried, but Sherlock was already moving past her, into the lift. She turned to stare as he hit the button so forcefully it resounded, and the doors slid closed, leaving her with a burning reminder of his livid face.

But when she turned to Jim she was met with a smile.

"Jealous already? My, my, you _are_ good, aren't you?" he laughed. Tightening his grip on her waist and steering her towards her apartment door.

She shrugged, and unlocked the door, stepping inside and allowing Jim in. She closed it tightly after him and stood for a few moments facing it.

"Come on," said Jim, sounding bored. "Let's put a movie on. I'll get some wine."

Ella closed her eyes tightly, but when she reopened them, everything was just as bad. She'd most likely just shot to pieces all her progress with Sherlock, so much so that he probably wouldn't be able to stand the sight of her anymore.

She sighed and followed Jim to the living room, where he'd spread out a selection of movies, but was already putting _Scarface_ on. She rolled her eyes and fell back into the couch, pulling a throw around herself, as though it might protect her.

* * *

><p>"Hit me," she said.<p>

"What?" scoffed Jim, pouring himself a cup of coffee and pulling the curtains aside, letting the bright morning light stream into the room.

Ella stood naked in the kitchen, waiting.

"I said hit me, and then leave," she instructed.

"Hit you?"

"That's what I said," she confirmed. "Hard, too. Not on the eye, that would ruin my face. Can you get the cheekbone? I need it to bruise, maybe a little blood, too."

He frowned and shrugged. "Sure. Is this supposed to turn me or?"

She rolled her eyes. "I have a plan involving Sherlock. But I need something real to prove that you've hit me. Smack on the cheek or mouth is perfect. I'm thinking cheek though, so that I can still kiss him."

"You don't waste time! Should I be offended?" said Jim lightly. "Want me to do it now?"

"Now's as good a time as ever," said Ella. "Maybe we can get some good colour in it by the time Sherlock gets here."

He didn't even hesitate, and Ella knew that that should have worried her. He raised his fist and hit her on her left cheek, very hard. But she managed to keep her balance. She cried out though, and clutched it.

"Are you all right?" asked Jim, sounding somewhat unconcerned.

She nodded, and bent down to peer at herself in the reflection of the shiny metallic dishwasher. He'd done it well, right on her cheekbone. There were even a few spots of blood.

"I don't know whether a 'thank you' is appropriate," she laughed half-heartedly.

* * *

><p><strong>There's another down and dusted. Hope you enjoyed. I like to think Ella's a little scared by how easy Jim finds it to hit her. :( Oh well, he's still perfect. Hopefully she can make some progress on Sherlock soon, if he's not too disgusted that she is going out with Molly's (gay) boyfriend!<strong>

**Much love xx**


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